A Spike Story: Irony And Laughter
by Laura Night
Summary: HEY!! Everyone! This is the second in my Different Shades series. First was Jean, now is Evan! No don't run, this is dark, scary, and horrible painful angst. Trust me you really want to read it. I think I was the first to give him some substance, shows a


A Spike Story: Laughter

Disclaimer: I own the story. The characters aren't mine. Sue and I'll have my mafia buddies break your legs. Oh and I used Likin Park's By Myself in here too, I like them so my mafia buddies will only break you lawyer's legs.

  
  
  


A/N: Ok! Let's start by saying that I did it! I gave Evan Daniels a.k.a Spike real depth! This is the second in my Different Shades series. (More soon!) I have a warning, a minor slash warning, but nothing more than telling feelings in towards a member of the same sex. This is angst, and pretty damn sad. I also hinted at my next few stories. Oh and you should really go read my Jean Grey one, True Confessions of a Freak because that's the first one in this series. I just got sick of people saying what a crappy charter he was, well the show's one is but mine ain't! PLEASE REVIEW! Now on with the story… 

  
  
  
  


A Spike Story: Irony And Laughter 

  
  
  


Evan walked towards the living room but, Scott's voice reached him first _Did he just say my name?_

  
  


"…Oh yea you know, all happy, perfect childhood, great athlete, totally immature, but he's ok I guess…"Evan leaned closer to hear more of what was being said by Scott. _I can't believe he thinks of me like that! If he only knew…_

  
  


"…Yea he's cool, _sometimes,_ but really he's just annoying. I mean Kurt's cool, only a couple times he's really gotten to me, but Evan, I don't think he was never _not_ bugging me…" 

  
  


The rest of the conversation was lost to Evan; only one thought was on his mind, _If they only knew…_ So the mutant, code named Spike, went to his room to write. He got there, turned his stereo on Linkin Park full blast and lied down on his bed, pulled out his notebook and pen, to write. To write of the past, of the present and of how he built this false shield so no one knows the true him. On the cover of his notebook he wrote 

  
  


Stuff I Had To Write Today 

  
  
  
  
  


Then he opened the book and began writing everything that needs to be said down. 

  
  


Star athlete, perfect childhood, immature, happy. What a bunch of bull! They really don't know me, hell not even Auntie O knows me, well not the real me. Auntie O thinks she knows all about me, I only met her once before she came to recruit me. My mom and dad never talked to her, Mom thinks she's too arrogant with her so called 'Goddess' attitude, my dad was never fond of her, thought she was too trusting and naïve. She's not even my real aunt! Some sort of distant third cousin stuff. I really don't care. But I do think she tends to be naïve, she sees what's on the outside and accepts that. Never pushes to see if everything is really ok, just accepts what you say. Honestly, I think she knows that there are other things going on but she just doesn't want to deal with it. But that's a whole different story.

  
  


Let's break what Scott said down bit by bit. Shall we?

  
  


First he said 'Star Athlete'. HA! I was forced to play. My dad wanted me to be the best. My parents never accepted anything less than perfection. I practiced all day, while my friends were just hanging out during the summer; I had camps, where all we did was practice, they were no fun and very exhausting. Then if I wasn't at one of the six or seven camps I had to attend to 'keep in shape' I was doing some other heavy labor job around the house. Lets just say that this left little or no time to relax. That's probably why I also seem so 'immature'. I'm just doing things I never had time to do before. But back to athletics. I've been training and practicing since I was eight. Basketball in the winter, track in the fall, and baseball in the summer and spring. All that and I had to pull a straight A average. When I was in the sixth grade, I brought home a B on my report card. My mom was disappointed my dad was furious. He is a firm believer in 'Second place is the first loser' so getting a B was close to not being able to practice. 

  
  


Not being able to practice meant either two things: 1. I had to be dieing cause being sick was no excuse or 2. If I wasn't dieing I would be if he found out I skipped practice.He was some sports hero back in his day. An injury kept him from playing in the NBA. He decided to play out his dreams in me. But I don't really complain though, it happens to lots of kids, I think. That's why when Scott, Jean and Auntie O came to take me away, he looked so disappointed. He just couldn't believe that the perfect son might just have a fault in him. I'll never forget the look on his face. He looked at me with genuine sorrow. Not sorrow for me, oh no, but for himself. He lost his way to do everything he never could. He couldn't care less if I might just have a very hard life because I was born different, oh no, it was his lost chance. I never wanted to be a 'Star athlete' that was never my choice to make. Never. I've had just about everything someone thought was good for me shoved down my throat. That's why I ran when I first met Jean and Scott. I was fed up with getting ideals, thoughts, opinions, all being forced fed to me and having to accept them.

  
  


The next thing Scott said was 'perfect childhood'. Well I already explained part of that above, but more comes from what would happen when I wasn't on the field. My parents fought, a lot.Most of the fights started at dinner. Over some of the simplest things too. Most of my childhood is just memories of bitter arguments. When I was really little, my dad was always busy, never had time for mom and I. That's what they fought over the most. I guess he was still upset about not being able to have any more kids. My mom had a miscarriage when I was two and had to have a hysterectomy and so without her reproductive system you can't really have anymore kids can ya? I think it might have been better if I had, had some siblings, so maybe so much of my dad's attention wouldn't have fallen on me. But hey life's a bitch right? When I was eight, he changed jobs and suddenly had extra time to spend with me. Thus he turned me into a 'Star athlete'. Now instead of fighting about too much work it was fighting about everything in between. Literally, I once remember a fight that went down to them just calling each other names, starting with bickering over the kind of salt you use when boiling water to make pasta. Constant yelling and screaming became a part of life; I just kind of stayed out of the way, probably why I'm not a good people person. But they are so good at showing their best sides to non-family members. It's where I get my habit of making a mask that shows me as a normal teenager. We could pose as the perfect family, but really we were falling apart.

  
  


Immature was the next on my topic list. Yes I admit it I am. I can't help it, I just am. I was denied all those things that Kurt and Scott take for advantage. It's also part of my mask. But whatever, I do what I do and if you don't like it tough. That's not my problem. I guess it's just easier to let myself fall apart and to laugh about it than cry. I'm a guy, I'm Spike I can't cry! So I laugh when Kurt jokes around about, well he pokes fun at just about everything I do, I don't tell about how much it hurts or how much I want to beat the fur off of him. I'm honestly afraid that one day, I'm going to put a spike through his heart. Scott's cool though, I mean despite the fact that he doesn't know a thing about me, I know he's trying to do what's right when sometimes I think he'd rather be hanging out with Lance and the boys. He was an orphan too and I think he could relate better to them than he could to any of us. But now I'm way off topic.

  
  


The worst is he thinks I'm happy. Happy. I don't remember ever using that word to describe how I feel. How can I be happy when I'm dieing on the inside? I've had to hide everything from the world. Especially my feelings.I mean what would I say? Hi, Pietro! I know we've sort of been enemies but I'm really in love with you. Or the other person I really care for: Hey Kitty, I know that you are in love with Kurt but I really care about you and hey, I don't have blue fur! Oh yea sure like that's going to work. I'm a black, bi-sexual, mutant. I don't think you get a smaller minority. Anyway, Pietro's straight, I think, I don't really know, and Kitty is in love with Kurt. Let see, other reasons I might be unhappy, hmmm… lets see, oh maybe the fact that no one takes me seriously, no one knows I'm bi, oh and of coarse there's that fascination I have with cutting myself. I cut myself with my own spikes, ironic isn't it? I mean I'm supposed to use those protect myself but I like to cut myself with them instead. Oh the irony in it all. I always thought it was weird that when they come out they don't cut my skin. But if I turn my arm just right, they slice it up. I tend to do that in the danger room and then slowly walk to the first-aid area. Just watching the blood flow down my arm and feeling the pain, it's the only way I know that it's my body. After all everything else it does I don't want it to. They think I'm careless and don't know how to use my 'gift'. Sure. Maybe I should tell someone this. Wait, why should I do that? I don't need or want anyone's pity. I'll just keep doing what I'm doing and I'll be fine, I hope. 

  
  


As he was getting off his bed, the first few cords of 'By Myself' by Linkin Park floated to his ears. He popped a very sharp spike out and looked it over as if he was deciding the most important decision in his life. He let the music take him away, to see if he could find this 'hope' he wrote about. He didn't think he could.

  
  


  
  
  
  


What do I do to ignore them behind me?   
Do I follow my instincts blindly?   
Do I hide my pride from these bad dreams   
And give in to sad thoughts that are maddening?   
Do I sit here and try to stand it?   
Or do I try to catch them red handed?   
Do I trust some and get fooled by phoniness,   
Or do I trust nobody and live in loneliness?   
Because I can't hold on when I'm stretched so thin   
I make the right moves but I'm lost within   
I put on my daily façade but then   
I just end up getting hurt again   
By myself   
I ask why, but in my mind   
I find I can't rely on myself   
  
  


chorus:   
I can't hold on   
To what I want when I'm stretched so thin   
It's all too much to take in   
I can't hold on   
To anything watching everything spin   
With thoughts of failure sinking in   
  
  


If I   
Turn my back I'm defenseless   
And to go blindly seems senseless   
If I hide my pride and let it all go on then they'll   
Take from me 'till everything is gone   
If I let them go I'll be outdone   
But if I try to catch them I'll be outrun   
If I'm killed by the questions like a cancer   
Then I'll be buried in the silence of the answer

  


By myself   
I ask why, but in my mind   
I find I can't rely on myself   
I can't hold on   
To what I want when I'm stretched so thin   
It's all too much to take in   
I can't hold on   
To anything watching everything spin   
With thoughts of failure sinking in   


How do you think I've lost so much   
I'm so afraid I'm out of touch   
How do you expect I will know what to do   
When all I know Is what you tell me to   
Don't you know   
I can't tell you how to make it go   
No matter what I do, how hard I try   
I can't seem to convince myself why   
I'm stuck on the outside

  


I can't hold on   
To what I want when I'm stretched so thin   
It's all too much to take in   
I can't hold on   
To anything watching everything spin   
With thoughts of failure sinking in   
  


  
  
  


And Evan laughed, not the cheery laughter that others heard in the past but a laughter far more cynical. His cold sarcastic laughter continued as he dragged the spike down the length of his forearm, feeling a sense of peace. He knew that he never could trust some and get fooled by phoniness, or trust none and live in loneliness; this is why it was his favorite song. As the blood poured from his arm and he slumped to the ground, he knew that he had made his own choice and somewhere deep within his soul, he knew that it was right. He vaguely heard someone come in to try and help him, but it was too late, too much blood had been lost already. Even as his wounds were being tended too, he still laughed, he laughed at the irony of his life, at the world in general. His 'spike story' the one with the x-men, started the same way it will end, with a sharp bone dagger. And if you were to talk to Scott, Jean, Kitty, Rogue, or Kurt and ask them about how they felt when they found their fellow teammate after he had nearly sliced through his arm, they would tell you that the blood and the exposed bone never phased them, but the laughter, oh the insane laughter of a man that had lost his mind many years ago, would haunt them forever.   
  
  
  


The End

for now…

By:   
Dawn Of Black Skies   
A.K.A   
Laura Night


End file.
